Grunge
by DrogonSoundsLikeDragon
Summary: Leaving her abusive family for one night to sing with her band was all Maggie ever really wanted. What she didn't expect was to feel Bob' s eyes watching her as she sang... And for him to save her from her family. A sweet love story and two very awesome characters. Seventeen year old Maggie/Sideshow Bob, enjoy.
1. Chapter 1

Hi! This is NYANCAT56 here. I've actually forgotten my email and password to my other account, so i'm reposting my stories to this account. Here's the long awaited Grunge update.

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It was time.

Her guitar was plugged in and tuned to the perfect pitch; her bassist fiddling with his picks, the drummer tapping his cymbal half heartedly. Maggie knew they didn't really go in for the whole grunge sound. But that was OK. All Maggie needed for her music was herself.

The year was 2014. With Lisa still getting over her recent break up with that British git Hugh Parkinson, and Bart still living at home, Maggie easily slipped away from her broken household as Marge and Homer placated and soothed the older two of the Simpson children. Sometimes Maggie felt left out, but she was fine. She had friends here at this bar that let her sing and play her heart out. her Uncle Moe would always allow her free reign of the Tavern Stage.

The red velvet curtain went up, clusters of middle aged men seated around the stained table, pints of beer going flat by the second. It wasn't a small bar, by any means, but it was big enough so that people were forced to look in her direction. Maggie liked it like that, people being forced to watch the younger generation strive for their dreams. She recognised several regulars in the pub, such as Mr. Burns, now fully de-frosted, and of course Duff Man. Gerald was sitting in the front row, his unibrow relaxed as he watched her. It slightly scared Maggie.

The first strum of her chord and her voice singing the song was enough for the men to perk up and listen, the, lights shining into her face.

But there was one person Maggie never expected her seventeen year old self to see in that bar.

Sideshow Bob.

He gazed at her, curious, a thin eyebrow raised at her appearance in his own bar. He hadn't changed a bit since Maggie had last seen him, when she was but a baby and he had tried out another ridiculous plan to kill her older oaf of a brother. True, he had small spider web lines littering his face, and his hair was a tad shorter, but it still unnerved Maggie for him to be watching her perform her songs.

Maggie swallowed, and carried on.

By the time the curtain had gone down, and her bassist had packed up for the night, Maggie was the only one left, gently polishing her guitar. It had cost her twenty weeks of saving and stealing any bit of money she could find, but Maggie would never regret it. That guitar was her baby.

"Hey Maggie." Gerald spoke, standing in front of her, watching her gently tuck her guitar into the bag.

Maggie swallowed, and looked up into his face. "Hey, Gerald."

"D'ya wanna hitch a ride back to you place with me?"

"Well thanks Gerald, but I'm afraid-"

 _Think, think-_

"I'm afraid she's already booked a ride back with me." The silken voice uttered, as the unnamed hero stood behind her.

Gerald swallowed, and nodded.

"See ya around, Maggie."

As he walked away through the brightly lit door, Maggie turned around with a smile on her face.

"Why thank you-Bob?"

He nodded, never taking his eyes off Maggie.

"Yes, I'm afraid your knight in Shining armour is me."

No one was around in the small back area of the tavern.

"What do you want?"

Bob sighed, and rubbed a hand over his face.

"I didn't expect to see you here on my nightly prowl of the local taverns. I- well, the last time I saw you you were merely a small baby. Now, well, you have... Piercings! An actual voice!"

Maggie nodded stiffly. "I don't really like speaking. Better to be thought of as a fool, and all that."

Bob looked at her through his dark hazel eyes.

"Would you like a ride back to the old Simpsons Villa? I do so love conversing with a woman who can quote philosophy."

And against all her natural instincts, Maggie accepted the arm Bob held out to her.

The journey back to her house was relatively quiet; Bob hummed the tune to Carmen once in a while, his small car filled with the small noise. Maggie swallowed, and summoning all her courage, started talking.

"Are you giving me a lift back to get to Bart?"

Bob swallowed, and looked deep in thought.

"I have to admit the thought did cross my mind. But I do genuinely did want to give you a lift, maybe out of the spite in my heart to see that young teenage sap wet himself in my endeavour to do so."

Maggie laughed slightly, her clear blue eyes sparkling at his joke.

They pulled up outside Maggie's house, the sounds of Homer roaring and Marge screaming back at him whining through the street. Maggie blushed at him.

"I'm sorry I can't invite you back in, but you can see we're not the best of company at the moment."

Bob nodded, and frowned. "Are you sure you want to go into that cacophony?"

Maggie sighed, and stepped out of the car. "I don't have a choice."

Bob sighed and opened his wallet, searching for something. He pressed the piece of paper into Maggie's hand and whispered in her ear, "If you ever get in trouble."  
As he drove off, the moon glinting down on Maggie through the night she opened her palm. Inside it was Bob's phone number.


	2. Chapter 2

Filthy swearing was the first thing to hit Maggie's ears as she walked through the door. Peeling paint and flaked wallpaper hung everywhere, and the dour smell of beer and sweat seeped through the walls of the house, despite Marge's attempts to make the house presentable. In the living room sat Homer, fifty three years old, with only a bigger stomach and larger winkles on his face to show for it.

"Dirty bastard!" he roared at his twenty four year old son who stood next to the television, a large smirk on his face.

"Gee dad, way to talk about yourself," Bart smiled, the picture of innocence on his unwashed face.

 _Oh god Bart, don't make him angry,_ thought Maggie, a frown slipping on her face.

The men looked up the soft sound of her guitar hitting the floor.

"Hey Mags," Simpered Bart, sidling out of the room to the kitchen, where Marge prepared Homer's dinner.

The man in question looked at his daughter, muttering a hello, before turning back to Animals Behaving Badly.

A shrill laughter drew Maggie's attention to the door; her sister stood, swaying in the doorway, a tight red dress with threads hanging down and sloping heels making up Elizabeth Marie Simpson's outfit.

Bright red lipstick and eye shadow caked her face, clumps of thick mascara hanging down her cheeks. Lisa sniffed back a sob, before waltzing tipsily into the kitchen where Marge and Bart were seated. Homer belched, before crunching a beer can and joining them.

Maggie sighed, a weary noise she felt in her bones, before clumping up the stairs to her warm bed.

Whilst packing her backpack for a trip to the Springfield National Park the next day, a light buzzing drew her to her mobile.

It was only a simple text to report a sale on at the Kwik E Mart, but it reminded Maggie of the scrap of paper in her jacket pocket.

In a sudden burst of confidence, she typed out Bob's number into her cheap phone and began to write.

 _I'm playing a gig at Moe's in two days._

It was three minutes before her phone let out a light buzz again.

 _ **Anything you want me to do with that information, dear?**_

 _I thought that I could educate you on Grunge music._

 _ **I might brave the cold and wind to learn all I can.**_

Two minutes.

 _ **If I feel like it.**_

Pleased with his answer, Maggie resumed climbing into the cold bed, locking her bedroom door firmly before jumping between the cold sheets. She was surprised to hear a vibration from her still mobile.

 _ **Anything interesting planned for tomorrow, Margaret?**_

omHHh _You know fully well my name is Maggie. And yes, I'm visiting the National Park tomorrow, 'Dearie'._

 _ **And yet you never address me as Robert, my name.**_

 _Pay me._

 _ **I make only a pittance, although I have some of the most delicious sandwiches- fit for a picnic, really.**_

Before Maggie could respond to Bob's teasing, a slight tapping on the door had her burying under her thin duvet. "Maggieeeeeee,' whispered Lisa through the door.

"Open the door Mags.'

A second passed; or maybe an hour. But eventually the tapping faded into retreated footsteps.

The buzzing had grown on her phone until it chimed into a short ringing noise; Bob was phoning her.

"Hello?"

"I must say dear, I didn't expect you to give up on the conversation so soon.' Bob's voice drawled out at her.

"I never had you down as the needy type."

"Anything the matter?" Bob asked casually.

"No, no, a minor family dispute took centre stage. Were you serious about tomorrow?"

A chuckle was heard down the phone.

"When am I not serious dear?"

"Ten o clock. And bring a bike."

Robert Terwilliger prided himself on his intelligence and clear thinking. It was a key trait of his, if you will.

But recently, all he could think about was the silent Simpson, Margaret Penelope.

She had grown since Robert had last seen her, and not at all for the worst. Her hair, once a spiky quiff akin to her sister's, now resembled long choppy waves down her back; she dressed in dark tartan clearly from the thrift shop, small piercings in her lips.

Robert had always wondered about that family.

Sighing, he popped the cork on a bottle of Grigio and leant back in his barstool in the kitchen, gazing down at a paltry meal of beans on toast. It would have been more suited to his long estranged son then Robert.

Just thinking about his boy made Robert chuck the slightly rotting food in the bin, his appetite forgotten.

 _Perhaps I'll ring Krusty. Arrange an evening out._

Until a buzzing from his phone distracted him.

Smirking, he conversed with Margaret until she mentioned a trip to the Park the next day.

 _Smoothly does it,_ thought Robert, until he had secured an invitation to the park from the Simpson in question.

However, Margaret had still not replied back after minutes. Was she asleep? Fallen down the stairs? Or perhaps her family had caused her injury?

When Robert pulled beside the house, shouting had echoed from the small home. He had not missed the look in his young charge's eyes as she emptied his trunk of her guitar.

She truly was a talented artist. Having gone to several of Marge's exhibits when she was a young student in the 80's, Robert was not surprised creativity ran in the feminine side of the family. Perhaps obesity and drunkenness ran in the male.

Picking up the phone, he decided to ring her.

Robert decided to play it cool when Margaret picked up the phone after two rings.

'So, what made you interested in performing?' he wondered, after they had conversed for a few minutes.

A deep sigh was heard on the other end of the phone.

'I'm not very good at much else, and besides, as soon as I'm eighteen I'm hopping on the back of a Kwik E Mart truck and bailing to London.'

"I had no idea you had such... Ambition."

"I wouldn't want to end up like my sister," Giggled Maggie.

"Why ever not? I thought she was the brains of your bunch?"

"Since that British toad Hugh Parkinson dumped her at the alter she is a frequent member of Burns' Bar and Casino."

"How very quaint."

Maggie laughed, before saying her goodbyes and hanging up, leaving Bob with a pleasant feeling in his chest.

But it was obviously just the wine.


	3. Chapter 3

In the morning, the majority of the family were still tumbling from their beds whilst Marge and Maggie waited for them, sipping their tea and eating their toast. It was a Saturday, the sun beating down pale rays upon the grass and cars.

"Morning!" Marge said sprightly as Bart and Lisa jostled down the stairs. She received mumbled groaning in reply, and set about readying their fry up. Maggie flicked the page of a weather beaten book.

"What are ya' reading that for?" Demanded Lisa suddenly, pointing at Maggie's book.

"I like reading. It exercises my vocabulary."

"God, you little nerd," sneered her sister, heading to the fridge for some of the curdled milk. Marge hummed gently to the old radio playing out 80's tunes haphazardly.

Bart plopped down in the seat next to Maggie, and laughed jovially.

"Now now Lise, leave the brain box alone," he said, patting Maggie's shoulder, before trying to snatch the old book. Maggie snarled, before grabbed her backpack from the floor, and began to head out the door.

"I'll be at-" She began, but found no one to be paying attention. Shrugging, she headed to her bike, the knot of tension building in her stomach.

It seemed the park was especially green today, butterflies trailing lazily with the wind and squirrels burrowing into the dark earth. The great trees casted dappled sunlight upon Maggie's skin. Maggie wished she had remembered to bring Santa's Little Helper; though old, his energy was still tough to keep up with.

"When I live in London," Maggie mused to herself as she wheeled her bike through the trees, "I'll have a whole house of dogs... really big ones. Then maybe they can keep people away from me and protect me from people I don't like. I'll make sure they're fed all the right food too, and-"

"Enough Walkies too?" a voice behind her silkily spoke.

Maggie blushed, and cleared her throat.

"I was simply-"

"Talking to yourself? You should have seen the prisoners have their one sided conversations in Springfield Jail. If you even twitched a lip at them they would have had your face through the concrete."

Bob had now caught up to her, only holding a basket and no bike in sight. At Maggie's questioning glance, he lifted an eyebrow.

"People like _me_ don't bike, dear."

"People like me don't eat sandwiches," Which earnt a small chuckle from Bob.

As they walked in companionable silence, Bob looked up through the trail. The thick scent of flowers punched the air, small chattering's and whispers to be heard all around. Other couples could be seen walking in distance of the pair.

"Have I the right to know where we are going?" asked Bob, looking into Maggie's blue eyes. She was a good four inches smaller than his 6'1.

"Right...here." the girl in question stretched the word out as she drew back a loose bunch of ferns hanging over a rock; pulling it apart, it fell away to show a small stream next to a grassy alcove. Sparkling blue water rushed out of a tiny waterfall created by two rocks, bunches of heather grouped next to one another.

Bob looked around wondrously before laying the blanket down with a flourish, making the fifteen year old girl giggle with delight.

As they settled down next to the stream, munching their sandwiches together, Bob stretched his feet out.

"Why are your feet so big?" questioned Maggie, chewing beef and radish. "I never noticed Gino with such large feet, or your father."

Bob laughed. "Well, when I was seven I got my legs trapped in a conveyor belt in a French airport. In order to save my feet, I had the bones taken out my ribs and put into them." Bob was struggling to keep a straight face.

Maggie looked at him, shocked, sandwich hanging limp in her hand.

Robert broke his poker face, laughing his lungs out. Maggie also broke out into a smile, before hitting Bob's shaking shoulders.

"You really had me fooled!" Maggie giggled. They looked at each other, before quickly looking down, Maggie blushing.

Bob pulled two soft blankets out from the basket to wrap around their shoulders. _She's so small and thin,_ thought Robert wistfully. She reminded Rob of the sparrows he used to watch out of his bedroom window as a lad in England, bored dull of his mother;s endless plays and his brother's foolish chirpings.

Robert shuck himself hurriedly, knocking the blanket off Maggie's slender shoulders. _You can get that thought out of your head right now, Robert. She's seventeen!_ Whilst Bob leant over to rearrange her blanket, he noticed faded little marks along Maggie's neck. They were shaped like hands.

"Homer beats you, doesn't he Maggie?" Bob picked up his food and munched on as Maggie froze.

The air turned cold, darkness overtaking the now dying twilight they had picnicked in. The man and the girl huddled together, under the freezing sun.

"Yes." Maggie muttered. Gently, Bob leaned his body into her frozen shell.

"And Lisa. She can't handle the fact I'm the future of the family whilst she squanders her life with Milhouse."

Bob sighed, and rubbed a hand over his face. It had been a long time since he had purposefully thought of the Boy, the one child who managed to besmirch his life since that failed job at the Kwik E Mart.

His plan was genius! The clown was a drunk alcoholic who only entertained the children with _pas mal_ sketches for the money. Robert was doing the world a favour.

Until the Boy ruined everything.

And soon, his family had also wormed their way onto his revenge list. Poor simple Homer, once his ally in solving the mystery of his Attacker, Marge the downtrodden wife and parent of four children- although one was older than her.

And Lisa, the Promised child, the brains of the clan, now twenty two and often found propping up the local bars in the quest to numb her intelligence.

As Homer found out, it was no easy thing to be smart.

And lastly, Margaret, the forgotten Simpson. Even now, she spoke little and wore bows in her unbrushed hair. There was that spark with the youngest of the clan. That little part in the DNA that made people stop and stare at her in the street.

Robert thought that he would have a chance to make his paltry amends when his brother Cecil leant him a room at his small apartment. They conversed about wine and women till the late hours each day, and Robert had a cushy job in his brother's business.

But when Cecil had shown his true colours, it was Robert's turn to play the hero; he with Bart and Lisa even bonding over foiling his brother. Until the inept Springfield Police Force shipped him back to Prison- though in her defence, Lisa had tried to protect him.

But a small tug on his blue shirt had Bob thrown back into the present, sitting next to his young friend. She looked worried as the rain hurled down on their paltry protection.

"There's a small cave down there," pointed Robert, whilst gathering the sodden picnic basket. "Head down whilst I grab our belongings."

The cave was warm. It was hollowed out, with a slight drop underneath, but it seemed a suitable home till the heavily hurling rain settled down. Maggie sat down near the entrance, watching the rain fizzle into nothing with her hands wrapped round her knees.

"Everything alright, dear?' Bob asked brusquely, sweeping his wet hands down his rumpled shirt.

Maggie laughed suddenly. "I'm just thinking how odd it is that I'm in the same room as a man who's tried to kill my family umpteen times." Before Bob could respond, Maggie continued.

"And how more ludicrous it is that I decided to eat egg sandwiches with him."

Bob chuckled too, until both of them were bawling their hearts out with laughing so hard.

Finally the giggling drew to a close, and they lazily chatted whilst the storm hailed down. Bob glanced at his Rolex.

"Good lord, the time is seven pm already."

Maggie bit her lip in despair.

"The weather's awful! It looks like we're going to be stuck here all night!"


End file.
